With God as my Witness
by katleer
Summary: I have begun this story in honour of my beloved South. It follows the story of Scarlet O'Connor (I used O'Connor as a reference to Southern Gothic author Mary Flannery O'Connor) in her quest to gain vengeance upon those who set great destruction upon her late parents' land. Rated M for implications of certain violent acts, frightening imagery, and a character based on Grell (Ya!).
1. Chapter 1: The Devil's Dictionary

Chapter 1: The Devil's Dictionary

Antebellum. What a wonderful word! Beautiful. Melodious. Pleasant to the ears, if you will. Belle: a beauty. Young. Supple. Elegant and chaste. Dancing in the waves of youth with young men staring from all around, offering their hands with a kiss. Meeting the lips in the dark, unaware of sneaking eyes lurking about. The gossip! The elder women forgetting to reminisce the days of their past. A scandal! Bright, white peaks of blossoms in the otherwise deadly summer sunlight. Gorgeous. Glorious to behold! Jewels to thine eyes. Oh, my Father in heaven! Could any other have any part in the responsibility for such beauty? It must truly belong to You!

Bellicose: a catastrophe. Dark ash rises into the sky. Morning fades into darkest, moonless night. Embers burn the skin. Rust the complexion. Like pristine waters, murky after the flood. Where are your young callers now, my young beauty? Is it now their blood that brims the Mississippi? Staining the banks red. Crimson, just as once were your now pallid lips. Dry. All is dry, save the lusting ground. Is it moist with life? Or does it jeer, fooling its residents with the tone of dew? A façade of hope for a new day. . .

All quickly comes to pass. It seems all at once. And then one wakes from the whimsical chime of their music box. Wakes to a sound of screaming.

"NO, WAIT! THAT'S BEEN IN THE FAMILY FOR YEARS!"

Tears add to the oncoming ominous tune as they patter to the floor. Oh how simple it seemed when it was the tiny naked feet pattering upon that very same floor! And the music to which they moved! Quick beats of innocence beneath the erotic canopy of the sweating sultry night.

Another scream. Another cry. Utterly alone. But you are not a child.

"GET OUT OF MY FATHER'S HOUSE!" and "THIS IS MY HOME! HAVE YOU NO HEART?"

You scream for such paltry things until . . .

"STOP! GET YOUR FILTHY HANDS OFF OF ME!"  
Antebellum. Is it even possible for such a thing to exist? When men are living, and women are spreading their wanton childhood dreams as possibilities. Can chivalry truly be dead, when brothers have always wished the same poison upon each one's lives? Has it ever lived at all? And what about war? Is one war really a new affair when compared to the last? Or is one just a continuation of when the other left off? History will say so.

Antebellum. Ha! Thou art a sham! A blasphemy against the very One who would wish you into being.

A human creation. A false deity conjured by the occult. Sinners! Devils! Every last one!

A sham! But a sham is what we turn to when there is nowhere else to go. Just as we turned to chivalry when we lost pride in ourselves as special beings. The chosen ones. Yes! We were the ones chosen to till this land . . . But now, it is being extracted from our very bones-poured out and washed away in the blood of young men.

Those very callers, my dear-the very ones that you once called young men-they are now our soldiers.

Send a prayer their way. And pray-pray for your life!-pray that no word with such arrogance as "antebellum" has ever touched their ear.

For, if it has, then we are all surely among the damned!

As my mistress looked upon the wilting inferno that had once been her family's land-the tears now withheld by a hellish anger-she heard a voice speak to her.

"With God as your witness, will you dare to enter into a contract with me? Will you give up the future bliss of your soul for the vengeance you now seek?"

My mistress forced back the tears with another blow from her proud will. She removed her shaking hands from the railing and, with hot conviction in her eyes, turned to the one now pressing her with his questions.

"Take what you will from me!" she said. "Everything else has been stolen from me. If I do not agree to give you what's left, who's to say that it won't be stolen later? The least I can do is avenge my family's honor. It's what they would want me to do. You say a demon is surely responsible for this . . . Well, I suppose a demon would be my best bet for taking them down."

"That is a great answer," my mistress's tempter replied. "However, I must have a definite answer in case you ever choose to go back on your word. Then you will have no excuse, for you have been warned that this contract cannot be broken once written. So what is it-yes or no?"

"Yes, then."

"Very well," the tempter said, his lips curling upward to reveal a frightful flash of white.

My mistress winced, stricken by a sudden pain. Blood trickled through the laceration that had slashed itself across the front of her body and soaked the front of her gown. But, strangely, it did not stain the fabric. Instead-as though sucked out by some supernatural force-it flew to the floor. The crimson fluid swirled around for a bit until it formed my mistress's name.

Miss Scarlet O'Connor

And with another supernatural-like force, the blood flew through the air and seeped into the foot of the creature who had been speaking to my mistress. Without another word, the creature changed. Its features stretched and became more distinct. The flesh turned from a dark black to a human ebony until the form of a man stood where the creature once stood.

"Remus Faulkner," the man said in a clear, tenor voice as he made a formal bow. "At your service."


	2. Chapter 2: Southern Gentle Lady

Chapter 2: Southern Gentle Lady, Do not Swoon!

"Karen . . .Karen . . .Karen, I'm drowning! KAREN!"

Karen Jameson awoke from her sleep. The droning voice that had been whispering in her ear had changed to a bloodcurdling roar.

"Geoffrey?"

She posed the question to the midnight air. She knew he was not there. It was impossible for him to be there.

She looked around the dark room. No one. There were only shadows and the invisible brush of the nighttime wind. She lay her head back on the pillow and resituated her shoulder blades until she found that niche of comfort. Again, she dozed off into dream.

"Remus, would you stop looking at me like that!" Scarlet O' Connor spat at her butler-the handsome, dark-skinned man standing in the doorway of the dining room.

"Yes," he replied in a voice that sounded very human, but with some sort of strange eerie undertone that one could not rightly pinpoint at its source, "but may I ask why?"

"Because you are irritating me!" Scarlet replied angrily. "Also, no one likes to be watched while they eat . . . Except filthy Yankees-the animals!"

"I'm sorry, Miss Scarlet," Remus said with a cordial bow as he turned away. "I was just concerned about your demeanor. You seem a little depressed today."

"Don't give me that!" Scarlet shot at him as he disappeared into the hallway. "I know you don't care about my feelings."

"Calm down, Miss Scarlet!" Crissy, the plump maid said as she took Scarlet's plate and silverware. "Ya don' hafta throw a fit. 'E was just lookin' atchoo. Maybe it's cuz yer pretty. An' if I were you, I wooden mine that fine man lookin' mah way."

Crissy spoke the last part only loud enough for Scarlet to hear. In return, Scarlet shot her a look of combined surprise and disdain.

Scarlet sighed as Crissy proceeded to take all the dishes and scoot away with them. As she stood, she could not help but feel a slight shortness of breath-and she did not know if it was from the tightness of her corset, the southern summer heat, or the fact that Remus had suddenly reappeared in the doorway. Maybe it was a combination of all three.

"What do you want?" she asked rudely.

The butler, however, did not appear taken aback or angered. As a matter of fact, he always seemed to be quite amused by Scarlet's brashness.

He approached her.

"I just thought you might want to see this," Remus said, handing Scarlet a bundle of paper-the newspaper.

"It says the body of some public woman was found on the bank of Owl Creek," Scarlet said as she perused over the front page. "So what?"

She attempted to hand the paper back to the butler.

"Pardon me, my lady," he said, pushing the paper back in her direction, "but you may want to read the article a little bit closer."

Scarlet shot Remus an annoyed look from over top of the paper before she continued to read. A moment of silence and Scarlet's murmuring from half reading out loud ensued. After she had finished reading the article, she looked up at Remus with a curt look, trying not to reveal the fact that she now knew he had bested her.

"So," she said, folding the paper back to its original formation. "It says that she must have died during the night because that is when she disappeared. Also, she had once been a patient of my aunt's."

Remus nodded.

"And what is one reason a person would go to see a psychiatrist on a regular basis?" he asked.

"Because they are seeing things that are not there."

"Exactly. Or . . ."

"They are seeing things that are there, but no one else can see them."

"Which means . . ."

"This girl, Karen Jameson, was seeing ghosts."

"Precisely," The butler said with a self-satisfied grin.

"Or maybe," Scarlet continued, tossing the paper on the floor-an act that lead Remus to immediately pick it up, "she really was crazy and she purposely drowned herself."

Scarlet began stomping off. She had been searching for leads like this for the past couple of years and, so far, all leads had lead to nowhere. Unless one counted bank robbers who had found a way to make their skin glow in the dark.

"Miss Scarlet," Remus said, following behind her as she walked through the screen door and onto the porch. "Must you always be such a cynic?"

"Yes, actually I must," she replied as she looked out over what had once been lush land.

"You do realize," Remus began, "that I could make the crops grow back the way they were before, correct?"

Scarlet listened to his words as a flashback crossed her mind: an explosion, flames everywhere. The blue soldiers-a small handful of them-ravaging the house, taking things and trashing them-statues, busts, vases and urns, even Grandmother's tea set. The one she had collected piece by piece throughout the years. All of it was gone, just as was the family, except for Scarlet. The last ones to go were Sam and Stephen- Scarlet's twin brothers. They had left Scarlet alone at home just months before they perished in the war.

Scarlet. Alone. In the dark of night. The clattering of porcelain, glass, and stone. Her cursing as they stomped about. Then, suddenly, her screams as they all . . . As they all . . . In the wake of the conflagration taking shape out in the field. Rising in the place of the glory that had once been the pride of the O'Connor's. Their land had once been the most prosperous in the entire state.

"No," Scarlet replied. "I mean, I know you could, but I must refuse."

She turned now to face Remus with a stern expression drawn across her eyes.

"I want this," she said, motioning out to the land that had once stood as her childhood heaven, "to serve as a reminder. My drive to continue searching for those responsible. I must, if I truly wish to avenge my family's honour."

Remus grinned devilishly.

"Well, if you really wish to avenge them, won't you take every chance you can?"

Scarlet nodded sheepishly.

"Well, then," Remus continued. "I suppose we are going to be paying your aunt a visit."

"Yeeeesss? Ooooh Remus! So good to see you!" Tennessee, Blanche Porter's butler, said once he had opened the door.

"Ahem!" Scarlet grunted angrily.

"Oh, and Miss Scarlet too," Tennessee added, allowing both of his guests in, Scarlet first.

"Who is it?" a woman's voice called from somewhere beyond the entrance hall. "Do I have patients-OH, SCARLET! OH, I AM SO GLAD MY NIECE HAS REMEMBERED TO COME AND SEE ME!"

A woman with platinum blonde hair had rounded the corner and ambled up to Scarlet with excessive enthusiasm.

"Yes, yes. It's good to see you too, Aunt Blanche!" Scarlet struggled to say as she now felt as though she was being strangled for her aunt had embraced her so tightly that oxygen was being cut off from her face.

"Well," Blanche said once she had released her niece, "would you like to sit down for a cup of tea?"

"Actually," Scarlet began, "I am here to discuss one matter in particular."

"Well, then, we can have tea while we have our little discussion."

"But-"

"I insist. Come with me."

Scarlet and Remus followed Blanche into the parlour.

"Well," Blanche said, "we can have us a little sit while Tennessee puts us on some tea."

She nodded to Tennessee as she sat down on the sofa. Tennessee returned her nod with a slight bow and sneaked a wink in Remus's direction. Scarlet noticed this and blushed, although more surprised than embarrassed.

"Well just have yourselves a seat," Blanche said, motioning to the two chairs facing the sofa.

Remus waited for Scarlet to smooth out her skirts and sit before he also took a seat.

"So," Blanche began, "let's see, you're fifteen-"

"Sixteen," Scarlet interrupted.

"Sixteen now," Blanche continued. "My how time has gone by! I remember when you were just knee-high to a grasshopper!"

She chuckled, but Scarlet did not smile back.

"So," Blanche said, "when are you and Arthur getting married?"

Scarlet looked down. This was something about which she did not care to think.

Arthur Wilkes was Scarlet's betrothed. He had been since she was twelve and he was fourteen. Back then, she had been very happy with the prospect of marrying the boy she had had a crush on since she was four years-old. But, somehow, she had lost interest in him. Although the two were still considered to be promised to one another, Arthur had more than noted Scarlet's lack of enthusiasm for their relationship. Due to this, Arthur had yet to formally profess his readiness to marry Scarlet.

"We will when we're ready," Scarlet finally replied.

Blanche chuckled.

"Well then you better hurry! I hear that Jezebel Chopin has been eying him up and down. You better make sure that boy doesn't go and run off with that cow-lashed princess. I will never forgive you if he does."

Scarlet did not reply. It was not because she did not know what to say, but simply because she did not care to think of anything to say. She already knew about Jezebel's taste for men like Arthur. Scarlet figured that if Arthur and Jezebel ran off to elope, she would have one less trifle to worry about.

"Oh, the tea!" Blanche exclaimed as Tennessee really had arrived with the tea tray.

Tennessee sat the tray down on the parlour table and poured three cups of tea. After doing so, he made a formal bow and left the room-but not before granting Remus another suggestive look.

Scarlet gasped, looking over at Remus who she noted had remained quite stone-faced.

"Would you care for cream?" Blanche asked, offering the creamer in Scarlet's then Remus's direction.

Remus shook his head, bringing the steaming cup to his lips and taking a sip.

"No, thank-you," Scarlet replied. "But I would like lemon."

"I'm sorry, Darling," Blanche said, adding cream to her own cup and daintily stirring. "But I am fresh out of lemons. Since the war it has been hard to come by good lemons."

"Oh, right," Scarlet murmured, staring down into the murky liquid in the cup that sat on the saucer on her lap.

"I made cream-puffs!" Tennessee called, sliding into the room with a tray full of delicious-looking pastries.

He offered the selection to his mistress, who took one and sat it on her saucer alongside her teacup. He then held the tray in front of Scarlet, who attempted to also grab one. But before she could, Tennessee pulled the tray away.

"NOT THAT ONE!" he squealed. "I made that big one just for Remmy."

"Remmy?" Scarlet questioned as she chose a different cream-puff.

She took a bite, but ended up immediately spitting it out.

"Uggghh, that was the most atrocious thing I have ever tasted!" she snapped. "Are you trying to kill me?"

She looked up at Tennessee who frowned, appearing quite disheartened. He then turned to Remus.

"Did you like it, Remmy?" Tennessee asked.

Remus swallowed the bite he had taken of his cream-puff.

"Well," he replied. "It's not bad."

"WOOOOOHOOOOO!" Tennessee cried, bouncing through the room as though someone had set his pants on fire. "He says he likes it! He likes my cooking! Yeah! Yeah!"

Scarlet looked on in utter shock as her aunt's butler danced to his own ditty.

"Well," Blanche said, taking in another sip of hot tea, "what is it that you wanted so dearly to discuss?"

Scarlet reached into her handbag to produce the very same paper that had been handed to her by her own butler earlier that morning. She handed it over to her aunt who gave her a look tinged with slight confusion.

"The public woman that was murdered," Scarlet began. "She was a patient of yours."

"Yes," Blanche replied. "That she was. I have a lot of patients."

"Well," Scarlet continued. "what was wrong with her?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," Scarlet replied, realizing that her aunt was already suspicious of her interest, "was she having hallucinations?"

Blanche sat her cup and saucer on the table.

"I do not normally disclose such information about my patients, Scarlet."

"Why not?" Scarlet said this without thinking about it.

"Well," Blanche said, sounding very much taken aback, "would you want people to know about your problems if you were, let us say, unbalanced?"

Scarlet shook her head. She had known it. The entire visit was a waste of time. Besides, what proof did she have that . . .

"Come now, Blanche," Remus said. "Do you not trust your own niece? She is family, you know. They always say that blood runs deeper that water."

Blanche blushed. Scarlet, noticing the rise of pink upon her aunt's cheeks, looked back at Remus in curiosity. How the devil did he always seem to get the reaction he desired? But, then, looking into his dark red eyes, Scarlet remembered-he was not human.

Remus was very handsome in appearance. Scarlet could not even deny that. She hated the way he looked at her. His eyes stared upon her with such a hunger-a hunger that could not be quelled by simple means. Scarlet had once dreamed that men would stare at her in such a way. But now, since . . . She abhorred the very thought of those eyes. She felt that they undressed her with their stare, not stopping with her clothes, but peeling away her very flesh and bones. He wanted to see what would one day become his. The longer he had to wait for it, the more he hungered for it.

"I suppose you're right," Blanche said, turning to Scarlet. "Scarlet, do you promise to not tell a single soul what I am about to disclose?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

Blanche sighed.

"Alright," she said. "Well, to answer your question, yes, Karen Jameson was delusional. She became a patient of mine after allegedly seeing her husband, Geoffrey's ghost. I worked with her many a session before she decided that she could no longer afford to come see me. That's when I heard that she had turned to . . .well . . . Her line of work."

"So," Scarlet said, "She didn't become a prostitute until after she stopped seeing you?"

Blanche nodded.

"She was already short on money when she started seeing me. She hadn't wanted to spend her money on treatment until her hallucinations became far too much for her to bear. You see, Karen used to live in the hills."

"Oh," Scarlet nodded.

The "hill peoples" were not very wealthy at all. Although the war had taken its toll on wealthy plantation owners, the ones who were hurting the worst were those who hardly had anything to begin with.

"So strange, though," Blanche continued. "Karen was a very bright girl. She didn't speak very clearly, but she was not ignorant by any means."

Blanche chuckled.

"I have worked much with hill people. They fight a lot, and they do not have much, but they tend to surprise me with the understanding they have about life . . . And death."

She looked down as though she was staring down into her own grave.

"So," Scarlet began as she and Remus left Blanche's house, "now we know that this dead girl had not only been seeing ghosts, but that she was also from the hills."

"And what difference does that make?" Remus asked, intrigued.

"It means we are wasting our time," Scarlet replied. "Everyone knows that hill people are crazy. Her husband was also probably her brother."

"Blanche didn't tell you that."

"Do you want me to go back and ask her?"

"I only want one thing," Remus said with a bow. "And until I get it, I must always do what you want."

Scarlet cringed. How could one so sinister ever be so cordial?

"However," Remus continued, "I do believe it would be in your best interest if we made a visit to Owl Creek tonight."

"We better find something tonight," Scarlet complained. "Because these mosquitoes are absolutely dreadful."

She continued walking down the trail with Remus following closely behind. The heavy sound of crickets chirping accompanied their every step. The scent of a tired, sweaty day lingered on the stagnant night air.

"Worry not, my lady, for there is the Owl Creek Bridge," Remus said.

Scarlet looked ahead and did indeed see the rickety silhouette of the Owl Creek Bridge.

It wasn't much of a bridge. It was nothing but a bunch of splintered planks bolted together over the gently flowing expanse of gurgling water that was Owl Creek. The fluid shown as liquid silver in the moonlight, but was illuminated further by the wandering green light of the fireflies.

But wait, a strange shape rose from the planks of the bridge. And it was moving! Wait, there were many of them . . . And they were shaped like men.

Scarlet and Remus approached further. Scarlet's heart thudded heavily in her chest. Was it-

Finally, when she had gotten close enough, she could see them. They all appeared to be middle-aged-just as her father would have been. But then, in the glow of lantern light, Scarlet realized that one of them-a darker skinned man-had a length of rope bound around his bare ankles and wrists.

The men turned as Scarlet's steps finally thudded upon the planks of the bridge.

"Hey!" one of them cried. "Wha-what are you doing here, young lady? You need to turn around and go home?"

"Why?" Scarlet asked, noticeably shifting her gaze so that it rested on the black man. "Is there something here I should not be seeing."

"No. There is nothing wrong going on here."

"Really?" Scarlet pressed. "Then can you please tell me why this man is bound at the wrists and ankles?"

"Well, he whistled at my sister," one of the men who stood further away blurted out.

"No I didn't!" the bound man shouted.

"SHUT UP, N*****!" another man exclaimed, beating him across the face.

Scarlet chuckled.

"What's so funny?" the same man asked, flashing a mean grin, "You like seeing this n***** get slapped?"

He raised his hand again as though he was about to bring it down even harder against the black man's just-recovered countenance.

"No," Scarlet said, and no sooner had she said it than Remus leapt in and took the wrist of the other man's raised fist into his hand.

"What the-" the man said, looking up to see his apprehender. "Do my eyes fail me, or is this another of them damned n*****s?"

He struggled to shake off Remus's grip, but soon realized who was stronger.

"BOYS!" he called. "GET THIS N*****!"

At once, all the other men leapt into action as they tried to bring down Remus. Although Remus did release the leading man's wrist, he escaped unscathed. His attackers ended up beaten down with dinner knives pinning the shoulders of their coats to the boards of the bridge.

"So," Scarlet said in a serious tone, "this man's life is the cost of a simple whistle?"

"He shouldn't have dared to whistle at my sister," the one man said from where he was pinned. "For one, she's married. For another, he's a filthy-"

"Enough!" Scarlet interrupted. "This is pathetic. You know that whistling is not a crime. I cannot believe you men would allow yourselves to sully your hands for nothing more than a whistle. You disgust me. Is this what the perils of war have turned you into? I can tell you, from my own experience, that much worse can happen to someone than just simply having someone whistle at them. Five Union soldiers did something far worse to me-FIVE of them! But they got away. Where were you when they did what they did to me?"

No one said a word. In the light of the lantern, Scarlet could see the astounded expression of the man attending the bound man.

"Let this man go," Scarlet said. "I will even pay you for his release if you so require it."

"Oh no. Selling people is illegal."

"So is lynching," Scarlet replied smartly.

Notes: Haha! Left you on a cliffhanger, didn't I? Well, I have decided to include some historical and literary notes concerning the first two chapters (I know it's off to a slow start, but I'm still working on my BATB story)

1. Remus-I decided to use this name in honour of Joel Chandler Harris's famous character, Uncle Remus. Uncle Remus is the narrator of JCH's famous Brer Rabbit (Brother Rabbit) and Brer Fox stories. JCH, a journalist, shaped the loveable character after three of his employer's slaves he heard telling animal fables in the slave quarters. Most of the stories are probably nearly identical as JCH was reputed for having good memorization ability. If you didn't read Uncle Remus's tales as a child, I highly recommend you do. My mother read "translated" versions of them to me as a child (the original stories are written in "Black English"-the Southern US sublanguage is so-named because of the era in which it emerged and the race of those who primarily spoke it. However, my late grandfather-a white man who grew up during the Great Depression-spoke in quite the same fashion. EX: Worta=Water). I think I enjoyed them more when I read the original version of two of the most popular tales in jr. college. Although the stories are normally snubbed by academia, I-as an English major-find them to be very interesting and valuable pieces for those taking literature at a higher level. Joel Chandler Harris has probably become one of my most favourite of American authors (Edgar Allen Poe is still #1). His Uncle Remus tales are great for higher learning because one must read them using a historical lens in order to fully appreciate them (there has been much controversy surrounding his tales. Many say his exploitation of black people is racist. I personally feel that JCH immortalized the imaginative works of people whose words are not shared enough with the Americans who succeeded them.), and they are also more difficult to read than one may believe. I fully enjoyed decoding the slang and diction to match modern English.

2. Faulkner-I realize that most of you have probably already figured this out. However, for those of you who have not, I will explain. William Faulkner is one of the great authors of Southern Gothic literature. I find his name to have a sort of debonair sound about it. I thought it would help in giving Remus a more proper image (p.s. In my mind, he is more handsome than Sebastian. There, I said it. However, no one can sound sexier that J. Michael Tatum). Another reason I used "Faulkner" is because of Faulkner's haunting story, "Barn Burning". I thought it would be symbolic to name a character after WF while a raging inferno is taking place in the backdrop.

3. O'Connor-I chose "O'Connor because it is the last name of famed Southern Gothic author Mary Flannery O'Connor. Also, O'Connor sounds very similar to O'Hara, and Scarlet O'Hara and Flannery O'Connor hail from the same state (Georgia-Oh no! I suddenly have a devilish craving for peaches and cream ice cream!). Flannery O'Connor is the late authoress of such famous tales as "A Good Man is Hard to Find", "Good Country People", and "The Life you Save May be your Own". 'Wise Blood' was the title of her first novel. Yes, it was made into a film. Like most Southern Gothic authors, Flannery O'Connor wrote dark, depressing, dreary stories that shed light on the perils of a changing South.

4. Blanche-After Tennessee Williams's famous female protagonist, Blanche DuBois (Doo-Bwah). I named her as such because Blanche in "Streetcar" is mentally unbalanced. My Blanche is a psychiatrist. Yes, she is Madame Red's replacement. I decided she should have platinum blonde hair because Blanche is the French word for white. Also, like Scarlet, the film version of the character was portrayed by the amazingly talented Vivien Leigh (who was British btw, but could still do much more accurate Southern accents-yes, there is more than one-than most Northern US actors and Californians-no offense).

5. Porter-After the pioneering Modern Southern author, Katherine Anne Porter. A fellow Kat, she was also a native of my home state of Texas (yep, had to throw that in there. lol). Although she is not normally included in the category of Southern Gothicism, she did attempt to shed light on the negative qualities of man. Although she wrote much about the South, she also concerned herself with the evil ways of Nazis, and tried to figure out why they did the horrible things they did. Porter is, many times, considered to be a political activist because of such concerns.

6. Tennessee-After one of my favourite playwrights. Tennessee Williams was one of the greats of Southern Gothicism (depressing Southerners-I know. lol). He is responsible for such classics as 'A Streetcar Named Desire' and 'Cat on a Hot Tin Roof'. He was openly gay at a time when being such was not considered acceptable. He was also greatly eccentric and took part in activities that would make your grandmother blush. He was exceedingly jealous of many other authors (including Mary Higgins Clark-my mom's favourite). You can probably see why I chose to name Grell's stand-in after him. Also, my version of the character is black but has white hair to match Blanche's.

7. Owl Creek Bridge-An allusion to the short story, "An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge", written by pioneering Southern Gothic author Ambrose Bierce. The story is very depressing and seems to have a supernatural quality about it. In the story, Union soldiers hang a civilian Southern man from the Owl Creek Bridge for a reason that is not fully explained in the story, and this makes for an even eerier effect. This story was featured in an old episode of 'The Twilight Zone'.

8. "Hill People"-Hillbillies. I used "hill people" because the term "hillbillies" was not commonly used until the early 20th century. These people really did live in the hills of the Appalachians, and were poor non-slave-owning whites. There are may misconceptions about hillbillies. One is that they are lazy. Actually, at this time, researchers believe that most of the "hill people" were suffering from a medical condition caused by hookworms, which are transmitted through skin contact with animal feces. This is very possible since hillbillies could not normally afford sufficient footwear. Also, most hillbillies are not inbreds. They have probably gained the notoriety for being such because of their alienation from most of society. It is true, however, that hillbillies tend to shun modern technology. This is probably why they gained notoriety after the Civil War; technology began evolving at a more rapid rate than ever at that time. Although hillbillies did not typically suffer from any inherent mental deficiency, most did lack a formal education. Also, many probably did suffer from other mental disorders. However, this was probably more due to poverty and illness than simple isolation from most of society. If you want to see a good film about hillbillies, watch 'Spitfire' starring Katharine Hepburn (love her!).


End file.
